


✻ flowers to our sobs ✻

by Laeana



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: 2017 to 2021, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Coughing, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, Getting Together, Hanahaki Disease, Healing, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Through the Years, so includes a bit of Lando and Daniel as teammates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:56:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26994784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeana/pseuds/Laeana
Summary: Because Max has always been stubborn and the kind to fight against fate. Until the end.Three years living with Hanahaki, soon four. Nothing he couldn't handle.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 22
Kudos: 162





	1. mosaic

**Author's Note:**

> Hanahaki Disease :
> 
> A fictional disease that appears when a love seems to be unrequited. Flowers start to grow inside the rib cage slowly, until killing their owner by either piercing through their lungs, or simply causing a respiratory arrest.
> 
> To get rid of it, two ways : to confess and the feelings are mutual or to go through surgery to get rid of the flowers; but this may erase any feelings towards the one loved, including simple friendship.

Max is ... what. Barely out of his teens, still a teenager for some, when he becomes Daniel's teammate and honestly, he doesn't expect to feel anything for him that quickly.

In truth, he refuses it to himself.

Because Daniel is everything he thinks he can never have. And first of all he's not gay. At all.

Denial. He feels he can keep this game going for a long time, it's not difficult. He is just cautious because they are absolutely not the same age and he could put together a list of reasons why the Aussie wouldn't want him.

But still.

He learns day after day at his side. What it is in the making. His talent, his abilities.

And it's ridiculous, some say he's too young.

And maybe they are right.

But he refuses to admit that too. He's here for a reason, he's here to win. That's all. 

And the fact that they share a podium in Malaysia does not make him feel any better about what he feels deep inside him at all. He thinks he can do it. He thinks he can do anything.

Daniel seems so accessible.

Because the more time passes, the more time they seem to spend together. 

So he smiles.

And pretends there wasn't the start of a soft fire already flowing through his chest, consuming him from within. Temporary madness. 

And when he feels a slight discomfort in his throat, like a little weight, where he thinks he's caught a cold, he doesn't know what that might portend.

Stubbornness can go a long way, it's true.

His father pushes him to always accomplish more, with a firm grip and a cold look, and he is closed to others, to those who could help him. He is desperately isolated.

But this podium shared at the end of the season-

This joy, this sparkle in Daniel's eyes-

The champagne sprinkled all around them-

His heart beats louder in his chest with a certain uncertainty. Max doesn't want to feel that way. It is a very bad idea, terrible even.

They joke and separate to go to their respective rooms, to change. 

There, inside, he pauses for a moment, staring into space. He cannot always restrain the feelings that are fighting inside him. He knows it. He knows it and yet ...

Sore throat.

Coughing fit, one more.

And sliding on his palm, dimly lit by neon lights, a small, immaculate white petal.

His eyes widen. 

Of course he heard of this disease but he didn't think it existed. A work of fiction, that's all. Because flowers cannot grow inside a rib cage when there is unrequited love. Scientifically impossible.

But this little piece of nothing at all destroys many of his certainties at once.

He is suddenly terribly afraid.

He has indeed fallen in love with Daniel Ricciardo.

He wraps his fist around the petal, closing his eyes suddenly, persuaded to wake up like from a bad dream, but when he opens his eyes again, the petal is still there, almost taunting him.

It is not a dream and he cannot wake up. 

Hanahaki disease.

Devastating. Murderer. 

He is not ready to sacrifice his feelings for Daniel. He is not ready to erase every ounce of friendship in favor of a love that will not come true, which will probably disappear with a little time.

Yes that's it. He just needs time, time is all.

Ignore these emotions as if they never existed. He can do that. He can definitely do that. He masters denial to perfection.

Dark smile that lines his lips.

Malaysia, October 1, 2017, his first petal.

Out of a sort of unhealthy curiosity, Max decides to find out what flower it comes from, what meaning to give it. It is not the easiest research of his life, he feels a little lost but ends up finding the source anyway.

A hawthorn.

Representing cautious hope.

He is standing in his own apartment, stunned. Of all that could have lost him, he never thought it would be hope.

-✻-

2018 starts ... relatively well. Max is still in that in-between state where he is dangerously close to Daniel and at the same time constantly has to draw limits.

He is proud of having only managed to spit out a few petals. This proves that his theory was correct. That he was right above all. Just ignoring those feelings is enough.

But then, after the beautiful days, those more stormy arrive, relationship distorted, changed. It hurts him. 

And in a flash, to hide when the tension becomes too constant, which is unlike him (he is someone proud, a  _ lion _ ), and he spits out petals again, he can't help but to be surprised.

Color change.

And flower change too.

He never heard that. He was always sure it was just one strain that slowly grew to killing the person, not several. And this time ...

This time nasturtiums. Burning passion.

Reds and oranges and a bit of yellows. Several nuances. And a little blood to accompany them. He frowns but wipes the corner of his mouth like nothing has happened. Rinses his mouth to remove the bitter taste.

He throws the petals in the air, watches them fall back into the sink and then disappear into the siphon. Like his feelings. Nothing that really takes place. He doesn't need it. He doesn't need that to be a pilot.

Daniel Ricciardo and Max Verstappen, the best driver duo.

But it's not made to last, it's never made to last and he knows it very well. Dozens of friendships have survived before them and they all came to an end.

Baku.

Max closes his eyes and the whole scene comes back before his eyes and it still hurts. Basically. Arguments, bored conflicts unfolding and he knows very well that this only feeds his feelings.

That it only breaks his heart, proves him right, makes those emotions come true when he has managed to keep them like dreams from the start, for a year.

The words Daniel throws at him are not pretty. Neither are those he replies. He doesn't want to be rude, he allows himself to say anything he might regret without even containing himself.

He is only immaturity after all.

And when their scuffle comes to a halt, when they are left panting, out of breath, but have nothing more to say because unfortunately everything has been said, and the eyes of his teammate,  _ liquid gold, tenacious amber, ray of sunshine lost _ , land on him, he feels in his throat a particular irritation, a little too recognized.

His eyes widen and he pushes the grotesque feeling away, wants it to slip away. Also a good excuse to get away from it all. Finally.

The nearest toilets. His vision clouded. He bangs violently against the door, tries to close it, but he's already over the toilet.

His eyelids flicker for a moment. Without really being aware.

It takes a moment before he pulls himself together. 

Headache. The room seems too white to him. Everything is too white. And what he rejected for the first time-

Several petals covered in blood. Floating, drifting, only waiting for a gesture of his part to disappear. And in the middle of it all, a complete, almost isolated flower. No. No no no. The water has turned red.

Taste of iron in his mouth much too present, his throat irritated.

It is no longer the same flower. What is that ? He picks it up. Small white flower that reminds him of a daisy. 

Max spins it between his fingers. In the center of his palm. He shoves it in his pocket and with a trembling hand activates the flush. 

His reflection in the mirror is terrible. He is pale, his hands are purple, his eyes reddened and his features drawn out. 

He still manages to make his way through the paddock.

And it is an anthemis.

Rupture.

What kind of rupture. In their relationship, in their friendship, in their feelings ? He can't figure it out. He can't figure it out and it hurts him. 

A terrible bruise has formed on his arm and he winces as he touches it. It's painful, suit will probably press on it. 

He tries to distract himself, to think of anything other than the fact that Daniel has dutifully ignored him for several days and the sadness invades him. He grips his heart. 

But no.

He doesn't like Daniel. He doesn’t  _ love _ Daniel. He can't love him. It is not possible.

He closes his eyes, still believes in it.

And it's only-

Just a few inches of a chasm widening between them. Almost dropped into the void, a rope barely wrapped around his neck. But he refuses to give up on a relationship like that.

They can be friends. At least.

He wants at least it left to him, he can't ask for much then he can only … he can only have this. When everything else is denied to him. 

And when he refuses everything else.

Other races, lots of races. Their bad luck seems to be equal. What are the GrandPrix they both finish ? Monaco as a kind of sweet redemption for Daniel and he observes, from the side, the face of the older man light up; a reason to believe it ?

But seeing Daniel so happy is always a balm to the heart. Despite the bitterness he can feel. 

The summer break takes care of putting an end to his internal debates. Max doesn't see Daniel and then-

Then he hears the news like everyone else. As if they had no relationship at all.

And from that moment on, he no longer thinks of hope, he no longer thinks of those moments of passion when his heart burned in his chest. He only thinks of despair. He only thinks of the pain. And a broken heart.

And from that point on, it’s not anthemis either. Small white flowers. Disease that continues to evolve.

Treachery, poison, betrayal

What a fucking joke.

He didn't know he was so sensitive to that sort of thing. They won't see each other as much but does it really matter when their relationships are so strained, when what's on camera doesn't seem to be equaled out ?

He shouldn't expect anything more he assumes. Maybe he only gets what he deserves. 

Anyway, from the start, these feelings were doomed, had no reason to exist. From the start, it was already over.

Max should be content with what he has and bury those emotions. Those will never resurface anyway. He can live with it and he can survive it, a certainty. 

Time will probably do the rest of the work.

If he doesn't die before. A certain irony that still marks him. Because this is his situation, this is how he lives now and it is not something he can fight against.

He can swallow his own feelings, he will always remain sick deep down.

Until he has, at last, cleaned his heart of all these intentions.

And when Daniel finally leaves him, Max thinks to himself that maybe he'll be able to breathe again.

Maybe it's time to start something else again.

-✻-

2019 begins and their bounds are a little tight. Max can't help but look for Daniel by his side before remembering each time he's not there, that he's gone.

He hates the Netflix series for not showing what they really are, what they really were. No stupid rivals but partners, friends … 

More. He would have liked so much more.

It's time for him to focus on the coming year. It's time for him to forget, now that a real distance has wedged in between, as wanted. Because it's supposed to hurt less now, it's supposed to fade away, be less virulent. 

Because Daniel's silence is easier to ignore than to recognize. 

Because he doesn't want them to give up on those two, three years of relationship. Maybe simple friendship but he assumes that one always grants a special memory to his first teammate. It's not abnormal, it's nothing. 

Blue flowers … blue flowers ?

Gentian. A meaning granted is contempt, disdain, pain. 

He does not spit flowers and finds that it is already showing progress. Whatever it was, it fades. And certainly not love. 

The friendship between Daniel and Charles seems to be growing stronger, apparently. 

It does not matter. But he begins to regret an era that ended too quickly in his eyes. And every time he sees Pierre by his side and later Alex, it's like a tug in his chest, a little salt on his wound.

It's not the same, it never will be. This difference really hurts.

But he can last as long as it takes, he's a fighter, he's a lion, he's a future world champion who has already started to write his story.

He just needs to believe what he's told a little better and avoid thinking about it for himself. 

He has grown into a surprisingly honest person, while knowing what is hidden inside that he refuses to recognize and which makes him sink a little more each day.

Not everyone likes his honesty and he thinks he knows why, but he doesn't want to change who he is. No desire.

Then there's- 

There's that first night they have in Monaco. A little too much pilots, alcohol, and it'll probably turn out like the usual. Being with Charles makes him cringe, their relationship is too weird. He has the impression of being too much, like a guest out of obligation.

Truthful actions, dances, certain locks that seem to jump, freeing some people from the grip that seems to weigh so much on them and Max stays a little to the side. 

“Truth or dare, Max ?” Lando throws him with a mischievous smile, definitely beyond sobriety.

The entire circle they had formed turns to him, curious, impatient. He only had one beer after all. He is by far the most reasonable.

With his secrets, this disease ... he must be able to maintain total control. He cannot afford to disclose his own problems just because he has been drinking.

“...Dare ?” He answers weakly, not really convinced. 

“Kiss … Nico !” 

It makes him raise an eyebrow. Maybe deep down he's also reassured that it's not Daniel.

“Okay, Kleintje ?” Nico whispers softly to him and he smiles because he has always liked Nico.

He leans forward. Nico puts an arm around his waist to better adjust them. It's affectionate, but nothing more. When he pulls back, the German keeps an arm around his waist in a tender gesture. 

Security.

He thinks that if he had to tell someone his secret it would be Nico. 

“Charles ! Truth or Dare ?”

“Dare !”

It takes place in a blur in the background and he is a little dumbfounded when he watches Charles come forward and kiss Daniel languidly. The kiss is gaining momentum and he who had always thought his former teammate heterosexual finds himself wondering if he has experience with men instead and then all his certainties collapse like a house of cards.

His vision blurs for a moment and when the two come apart the Aussie still has that same signature smile and doesn't even glance at him.

Even if, even if he was on this side, there would be no way he was interested in him. No.

Reality hits him hard and he looks down, refusing to feel sad or even affected by unspoken, guessing, transience.

“Everything is fine ?” Nico asks him, always by his side, and he wants to snuggle up a little more by his side but doesn't really dare.

“I … probably.”

“You know, you don't have to-”

A sharp burning sensation in his stomach. He knows what it is, he always knows what it is. That never changes and it's not a meager beer he would spit out like that. He quickly apologizes and heads for the bathroom.

He locks the door behind him and lets himself be taken in by his nausea. Uncontrollable cough that goes hand in hand with unacceptable, shameful accomplishments.

It's like losing consciousness over time. 

Max is aware of what he has done but when he comes to himself, observing the mixture of flowers and blood in front of him, he still feels like it wasn't his doing. 

Flower change.

He grabs his phone from his pocket to quickly find out what's going on.

Bright yellow like Daniel. Daffodils he should have recognized. Carrying the meaning of desire, melancholy.

His regrets for a lost time. His pursuit of time that he will not catch up with.

Maybe he should see a doctor, but he's afraid of what can come of it. Who can be made aware of, the consequences. He doesn't want to be cut off forever from his feelings for Daniel. He refuses it. 

He can survive it, he can do it.

He flushes the toilet behind him. Sore throat. When he returns to the living room, a few glances are on him and Nico hands him a glass of water which he accepts with a smile.

“Feel better ?” The German slips into his ear, in Dutch, as if to make sure no one hears them.

Under a sudden impulse, even though he's been playing this game for a long time, he shakes his head from left to right. No. No, it never gets better, it's only worse and he doesn't understand.

“Let’s go out to get some fresh air ?”

The proposal makes him nod quickly and once on the balcony, he finds it difficult to collect his thoughts. Fog he passes through. It is not all clear enough. Most of the time, he must leave his share of doubt. To survive is also to live in denial.

“I know you love him, Max, that's obvious.”

He almost chokes on his glass.

“Pardon me ?”

“I know you love Daniel. The way you look at him … speaks for you. There is no need for words, it's so strong.” Resumes Nico even more gently.

It is the favorable climate for confessions, he knows it, he feels it very well. He feels like he could beat around the bush for hours and hours.

“Is it too visible ?” Max asks because he's scared too. Always scared.

“Only for someone who observes you enough, knows you enough. What's wrong ?”

His last chance to escape but at this point, it's no use. He also knows that Nico will not betray his trust. So … 

“Hanahaki. I have Hanahaki.”

“What ? Since when ?"

This air, the same air that has been floating in his chest for too long.

“2017.”

“Max, that's way too much. You shouldn't have survived after that long.” the German mutters looking at him, eyes wide, concern shining.

“I manage to … stem it in a way. To keep it under control. I think I can make that feeling go away.”

“You …” Nico wrinkles the corner of his mouth “It's not rational. And what will you do when you can't control it anymore ? I don't want you to collapse, to die. None of us want that.”

Max doesn't want to  _ die either _ . He still has so much to live and give, so much to do. There is still so much he can do. Dying is not in his immediate plans, that's for sure.

“So I should confess ? It would be the worst idea. Daniel is not interested in me romantically. Lately, he's not even friendly speaking.” 

His cold irony bursts through the air like a slap.

“But it will work out. I promise Kleintje, somehow it always ends up working out with a little bit of time.”

Nico puts his hand on his forearm. He knows that this one cares for him, he knows that he only wants his good. So he just nods.

“Go see at least one doctor, please. Not to make a decision but to at least check your condition ?” 

But he doesn't.

He is convinced that it is something he must do alone, that it is feelings that he must face alone. He can't afford to waste time.

At all.

His feelings will cure themselves.

It's more timid. His relationship with Daniel. Much more timid. Hesitant. He's not trying to reestablish contact. Tells himself that if nothing happens then he will have simply ended an exhausting friendship for him.

No relationship can survive if it is only maintained on one side. He knows it well. 

But then he is surprised to receive messages and invitations and words, so many words, lots of words. 

His heart is beating in his chest and it's bad. He does not want to recognize this love which he still feels so alive in him.

The end of the year is sweeter. In a way. He fights for third place in the championship and ends up winning it and between a few days, evenings are organized again. 

He won't see Nico next year. That weight he'd let go of, those times he'd taken refuge in the care of the older pilot and those times he was helped, covered. 

It won't happen next year. His illness follows its path. He thinks that anyway, at this point, he'll be able to live with it. He forgot what it was to live without.

Waking up with messages from Daniel daily, having his visits from time to time ... as if the Australian was afraid of losing him and his feelings are still taking a step forward, evolving.

Although more normal that his disease follows this evolution.

Forget-me-not. Small blue flowers, or even "don’t forget me", sincere friendship, true love.

Friendship or love ? 

Always the same question, so close and so far at the same time. Two distinct feelings.

They meet at the end of the season, in the same apartment that has seen his certainties collapse. But this time, Daniel just stays by his side.

“You know I missed you, you know that, Max, Maxy ?”

It's not a frequent nickname and he smiles when he hears it, vaguely wondering if his former teammate is drunk but his gaze is perfectly clear, sincere. So sincere that it takes his breath away.

“I … I thought …” Max struggles to rearrange his thoughts “I thought you didn't need me.”

Daniel's arm slips around his shoulders and he exhales shakily, because he can't deny that he missed that kind of touch.

“I will always need you, Max. Always.”

“Really ?”

Something shines in Daniel's eyes and he struggles to know what it is. He swallows, his throat strangely dry. There is something to say right now. He has the feeling. 

But they are interrupted, once again.

New games that are launched and he still has little desire to participate in those but it does not matter. 

Daniel stays by his side for the entire evening.

-✻-

Max had decided to-

To keep a notebook with him. 

He’s not the kind of person to write at all, he does not consider himself organized enough but maybe, maybe it could allow him to externalize his emotions. If he's writing them down, that's one way to get rid of them after all.

The flowers he has had since the onset of the disease are listed there. Along with their meaning and what he associates with them and it's overwhelming how much that speaks to him. How pathetic he is. 

He hates himself in a way. He hates himself for doing this to himself, he hates himself for who he's killing inside.

Sometimes he can't even stand his own reflection.

But he learned to live with it.

Confinement keeps them away; but he thinks it keeps a lot of people away. He's in Monaco, Daniel is in Australia. Too far from each other. The season postponed. For how long ?

In fact, a lot is happening during this period of calm. Pilot changes in particular. From right to left. Daniel in Mclaren.

It's a good thing … isn't it ?

He questions himself and people are already looking forward to this upcoming friendship and he finds himself dreading it in a way. Because, what if ... what if it all ended this way ? The two people he considered himself closest to together ? 

A feeling of horror runs through him and he feels guilty because if they are happy he should be rejoicing for them and either way it hasn't happened yet.

He is panicking deep inside. He's already panicking. He knows he thinks too much. That kind of a situation shouldn't worry him so much and he doesn't have any romantic relationship with Daniel anyway so it shouldn't even matter.

Should, should.

Everything is upside down.

The Australian's radio silence hurts him more than it should. This is why, even as a new season begins and he finds himself again behind the steering wheel with a certain impatience, he finds himself again spitting flowers.

White, white … saxifrage. 

Oh. 

Max blinks as he finds himself facing the definition. Faced with this meaning. Despair.

He didn't even know his feelings had reached such a point. He didn't know anything. As always, he denies everything altogether, until a certain bottom is reached. Until his fall took him too far.

The return to the paddock.

Mind still so confused.

What is he doing ? What is he doing ? Avoiding Daniel, or at least not crossing paths with him, seems easy with all the arrangements in place anyway. But that only feeds his pain and therefore feeds his illness.

Really perfect. He loves to feel that way. It's like he's ruining his own chances on every try. It doesn't matter what he does.

The behavior of other human beings is unpredictable, not true.

This is exactly what he says to himself. His loneliness is marked depending on the weather. Alex is still not Daniel but he looks like he's got used to him. Because Alex is a good person, he is a nice person, present on a daily basis.

But he can't run to him every time he has a problem. He must always be more mature and that is what sometimes distances him from those of his age.

It's like he's not his age, exactly.

Nico continues to send him messages to get news of his condition and it gently makes him smile. At least one person who cares about him. 

Of course he's not going to tell his mother or sister. He thinks they are already suspecting something but it's really something he has to deal with on his own. 

Then, then, then-

“Max !”

Daniel approaches him in a completely banal way at the entrance of a circuit and he cannot help slipping into a conversation a little too natural with him. A ridiculous subject. It makes him so happy, it's so silly.

When they go their separate ways, Max almost has regrets. Regrets, regrets, so many regrets.

But it continues, it still continues. They see each other more. He sees the videos between Daniel and Lando multiply and he pretends not to notice it. Because it's irrational, because it doesn't make sense.

Taking the plane together, spending evenings with each other. They live very close to each other, it's true.

It's true and his emotions are slowly turning into another color, into another shade that he can't quite hold back.

And all it takes is one evening, one more evening and Daniel still has that same glow, that same sparkle too present in his eyes, something that he does not know how to decipher but that he knows he is afraid, dreaded and at times wanting to understand so much…

Reality catches up with him.

He closes the door behind him with a last kind smile against the older one, then slips down against it.

His cough is second to none. His body is shaken and sore. He can't- He can't- He can't breathe. The air. He needs air.

Air.

Panic hits him, the flowers don't seem to stop coming out of his throat, he sinks, his sitting position forms and twists as he tries to find a way, any way to breathe again.

He blinks several times quite violently. He can't do it, he can't. 

Cough that never seems to stop. The taste of blood in his mouth. He coughs up blood. Sensation of irritation throughout. He retches several times and is half-vomiting. 

Vision blurred by tears. Black stains. On the brink of discomfort. He bangs his head against the door to stay conscious. A flash of pain through the fog, which only added to his condition.

Wheezing. 

He spits out another flower. 

He finally seems to come to life. He's in so much pain. His whole body is shivering. He tries to get up. He's got blood all over him. He runs a hand through his hair, the same sticky feeling. 

He needs a glass of water and a shower.

And also to clean up.

He pauses for a moment in his observation and in this macabre scene. Pause. His mind is still confused but he thinks he recognizes this flower anyway.

Hellebore … green ?

A kind of rush takes him and it is not the moment nor the place but he still grabs his phone to search for the meaning with a new frenzy.

Interrogation.

His questions. 

In relation to the feelings he feels and in relation to those that Daniel feels for him. Two-way questions. Problems that have no solution. 

He's afraid it won't be resolved before the end of the year.

In fact, at the end of the year, he's trying something. Lewis has already been crowned champion for a few races but that's okay, it was inevitable. He just takes full advantage of the last moments, wonders what the next year will give and ...

And he wants to silence his uncertainties. And he is afraid of what can happen in a few weeks, months, in a year. 

And he's scared of Lando in a way.

It is ridiculous again. Totally ridiculous. Max dreads his own behavior and flowers are piling up around him.

The end of the race is in a blur and his only certainty is to find Daniel. He must find Daniel. He needs to talk to him. They need to talk about it. It's been too long … 

“Daniel !” He shouts when he spots him in the distance, too far perhaps.

The Australian stops for a moment, finds him in the crowd in turn, his gaze seems to soften as he crosses the few meters that separate them.

“Max ?”

“I need … I have something to tell you. I need to talk to you.”

He even has trouble finding his words, himself. Daniel frowns and throws a glance behind them, eager.

“I'm sorry, can we … can we talk about this later ?”

This stop is a little brutal, some of his resolutions collapse. His throat becomes more irritated.

“Of course. We'll talk about that later.”

Daniel puts a hand on his cheek, a brief touch of an instant, before leaving him alone. And Max is having a hard time figuring out everything that just happened.

But after this moment, they don't see each other again. They don't come home together. Then there's the vagaries and the different factories and that in-between moment where Daniel ends up going back to Perth and-

They don’t talk about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel so, so sorry because I totally forgot to post yesterday ! x)  
> But here it is, the work that took me maybe a bit less than a month, I hope you enjoyed it, the second part is coming really soon, I just prefered to divide it in to, so it would not be too long.  
> Hanahaki disease is a subject I often wrote about in other fandom so I was like : why not here ? So that happened ...  
> Thanks for reading !
> 
> tumblr : laeana


	2. and feelings won't fade

2021 can only be better. Max blames their lack of communication on their estrangement, once again. The videos of Mclaren that appear do nothing to appease him.

He wonders if he's been replaced. Can he be replaced ?

No.

No, his memories will never fade. Their memories together, everything they've been through together won't fade away in the blink of an eye. Whatever people say. It meant so much to him.

Daniel was his real first teammate and in a way he was one of Daniel's longest teammates.

From there to knowing whether or not they give it the same meaning ... 

He is racking his brains alone. He suffers from it on his own. He can't see his feelings take on another color, another meaning, another flower, he doesn't want to see it. Three years of living with this disease, one more year is nothing he can't handle.

He knows it, he knows it, he knows it.

Even so, it hurts. It hurts so much. It's bitter, because deep down he's even afraid of his own feelings. What is boiling in the pit of his stomach. From what he almost revealed, he came so close to revealing it …

He came so close and it stuck in his throat, no pun intended.

Maybe if he had been a little more courageous, maybe if the circumstances had been different … maybe the question of his feelings would be settled.

Max does not dare, on his own, to consider the idea of a relationship, of a couple.

The truth is, he's afraid to look in Daniel's eyes and no longer see that little spark shining there. He's afraid it's too late. He's so, so scared. It seems that the last few years can be summed up like this.

And it makes him sick. Sick of worry and unanswered questions. Sick. No longer being able to live.

Helenias, helenias ... sweet helenias.

They remind him of sunflowers in a way. With a slightly higher bulb, but he can say that if he had had to name a flower for Daniel, it would have been the sunflowers. Pretty, pretty sunflowers. The very resemblance seems to be a cruel coincidence. It's all in his head, nothing is real. The disease follows his own obsessions, his own feelings, not the facts.

Tears.

But he does not pour any, he does not pour any more. He refuses to shed tears. This situation will not have more of his tears. He must be stronger than that, it's a mantra that he constantly repeats in his head. A painful, terrifying way to live.

But it goes on, it goes on and on. The disease gnaws at him, crawls on his skin, inevitably and he wants to slow down time or go back. Why does everything seem harder now ?

Sometimes it's so hard to hide that he has to find his own subterfuge and Nico keeps giving him worried looks from the other end of the paddock.

He doesn't want to overwhelm him when he's barely back.

A well-kept little secret. At the bottom of a box. That he has thrown somewhere into the ocean of doubts and regrets which he desperately struggles to stay on the surface.

Max continues to find more subterfuge, more excuses. He suffocates and the marks he leaves on his own skin sometimes seem hard to justify. Purple marks or dark circles.

He camouflages everything at best, avoids it being too frequent, too obvious, and anyway racing allows him most of the time to keep away all kinds of thoughts that could hurt him, which could destroy him from the inside. 

The races remind him of what it is to really live, to be alive.

Maximum adrenaline levels. To feel nothing more than the track, the car, his heart which beats dully. Alive, alive, alive. He is alive. He can save himself and he can save his own situation.

But he can't fight the relationship Lando and Daniel are building. They get along wonderfully and his phone is always empty of notifications.

On the verge of emptiness.

Reconsidering the surgery.

Everything he doesn't want, everything he never wanted. And at the same time, to stop here is to prejudice those three years spent, in waiting, in denial, of doing the best he could to live without worrying about it. The master word. No worries, letting go.

It is not a question of love, it is never a question of love in front of the cameras and childishness would be a better word to describe the relationship between the two McLaren teammates.

It is an endless spiral.

When he hears about-

He hears about a party that went by without him, he just shrugs. He doesn't squeak, doesn't growl, doesn't protest, too busy healing his inner ailment. Then anyway it already happened, what's the point of getting upset ?

He ticks a little more when he hears the first names. The twitch gang, he would have suspected, but the fact that Daniel, Pierre and Lewis are also there bothers him.

An uncontrollable tingling. In truth, being able to count those who have been there still hurts him.

This feeling of being put aside that he relegates a little further. He's proud, he's too proud to admit his injury.

Carlos, on the other hand, sends him worried messages, and that bothers him more. Because the Spaniard sincerely believes he is at this party but he is not.

Ah, put it aside. Both. 

It bothers him more because Carlos is his friend and it's not something he deserves on a whim so he invites him to his home. A pity party of sorts.

They play FIFA on the sofa, laugh while drinking a few beers and mostly, especially not, talk about romance, love, relationships.

When they separate, on the bottom of the door, he sees a glint of recognition in the older man's eyes.

But it's only getting worse.

So this time Max chooses to recognize it. 

He takes a deep breath, exhales gently, lets the realization run through his entire body and begin to inflict damage on him.

He loves Daniel.

He hears worlds breaking within himself. He hears an echo of distant memories slowly trying to come back to him.

Then he lets go of that feeling.

Because it's been too long, so long it's been going on then it won't happen. They are no longer assumptions, hypotheses. It’s reality.

So he abandons this love and tells himself that if he can get rid of it, the disease will also disappear.

The realization hits him like a punch in the stomach. Real. His body on fire and he knows that's kind of a deadline he's getting closer to as well. Dangerous, terribly dangerous. 

His breathing stops again as he pulls whole flowers out of his throat. Grabbing those by hand. 

The pain is sharp. Yellow with red spots. He knows this signals something new, but Max still doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die.

Broken heart, abandonment.

Cytises.

He wishes he could stop suffering too. He would like it to be obvious, as easy as pie. May one word suffice and all his worries go away. He wants to stop loving Daniel but to stop loving him means the end of so many things … he doesn't even know if he's ready.

It's true, it hurts, love always hurts. But it's necessary, it's always a part of the contract, of jealousy, of negative feelings … it cannot be only joy, only happiness, only shared moments.

Especially when there is no such relationship.

But still. Max still found himself loving, watching for these feelings, this warmth in his chest. To feel it develop, as it goes. To feel it becoming a part of him, of what he is.

And he doesn't want to forget that, he doesn't want to give up on it. 

Alas, it's never quite the way you want it to be. The life that never goes the way you want it to.

It is more and more difficult.

Maybe Daniel has turned the page, maybe he's the only one who misses their exchanges so much, maybe it's just an impression, his impression. Maybe their relationship never changed, never gained distance but that’s just that this gap between them became more unbearable day after day.

Everything is a question of point of view and Max gets lost in it. Drowned in his own grief and in his idea of grieving feelings, of containing the disease, of slowing it down at all costs, to the point where, at one point, he can no longer do it. He's so tired and that realization seems to have cut everything that was holding him back before.

So much so that, at one point, driving is no longer enough.

The adrenaline, this point of fixation, this moment out of time which until now had never been felt otherwise, breaks.

So many flowers in his throat. He feels them coming. He feels them looming on the horizon, like an inevitable conclusion. As if it was his destiny. A few petals escape him and it is not yet visible. 

He got confused looks when he keeps his helmet on even as he gets out of the car and as he rushes to his driver's room. He managed to finish the race but at what cost ? 

He's going … he's probably going to take a penalty … he didn't go to the weigh-in and …

The door slams shut behind him. Limbs of consciousness. He takes off his helmet with trembling fingers. Too well-kept secret. The blood has already stained everything and it's not over, it's never over.

He vomits flowers, thinks he sees a dozen. Black flowers. In the middle of the red and he knows what it is to have already had a variant. Hellebores.

What was it already ?

He has trouble staying upright or even conscious. He falls to his knees with a final thrill, trying to find air. He still misses air. Air, air, air …

Tide of petals around him, making his way and his vision is cloudy, tears come back to him because, because-

Because Max loves Daniel.

Even if it is not reciprocated, even if he has not stopped suffering because of it, although he could have been much better without these feelings.

He loves him, he loves him so much.

Sun of his days, light of his life. One more reason to stay alive, to hang on more.

Because Daniel was such a special person that he couldn't want to see him disappear from his life.

He hadn't wanted to.

His head hits the ground a little hard, his hand tightens against a semblance of ... a semblance of carpet but he has nothing more to hold onto and he has a meager moment of clarity where he wonders what this scene can look like from the outside.

It was- it was ...

End my torment.

The black hellebores as a message.

Oh.

-✻-

Max has flashes of consciousness only. He has the impression of not being able to breathe anymore and to stay awake seems impossible to him.

An oxygen mask on the face.

He feels like a hand is squeezing his. A warming contact, something constant in this fog that he lives.

“Max, Max … stay with me, Max …”

He wishes he could join that voice but it's hard, so hard. He tightens this grip on his hand a little, wants to keep it. Barely a contact. 

“Max …!”

It's pretty white around them. He has the feeling … this feeling of movement around him. People. Instructions.

To try to keep him alive.

-✻-

When Max wakes up he is surrounded by an irrational fear. Has he had the operation ? Didn't he have the operation ? His confused brain makes this first observation and it’s a spiral of endless thoughts.

His body is numb, painful. He has trouble moving. A weight by his side. One hand in his again.

Then his senses return to him.

His throat is still on fire. Itching in his chest. He feels a discomfort there. He knows it's not over, it's never over. His feelings are still there.

Daniel sleeps at his bedside, his upper torso bent, his head resting on his legs; he seems to have kept his hand as if in a desperate attempt, as if by fear he would disappear.

The Australian looks exhausted, his complexion paled, his messy curls forming like a cluster around his head, like a halo. His beauty still strikes him as much. 

And his love radiates in waves. Warm. Always accompanied by this same … this same uncomfortable feeling. Sick, that’s true.

“Dan, I … Max ?”

Lando almost lets go of the cups he's holding when he sees him, surprise freezing him in place before he runs up to him.

“Max ? Are you okay ? Do you need me to call a doctor ?”

He shakes his head. Then he hesitates for a moment, before simply running a hand through Daniel's curls. A contact that he had missed.

“Do you …” he coughs for a short moment “Can you tell me what happened, Lando ?”

The youngest one nods, puts down the cups and sits on the side opposite Daniel, hugging him, as a gesture to reassure himself.

“I … The race was over. Dan and I just heard that there was a fuss in the RedBull garage and then there was the video but … There was an ambulance. We asked to come by, I think it was Alex who discovered you but I don't remember it very well. ”

“Oh.”

Does that mean that his departure had been observed by the whole paddock ? He who wanted to remain discreet precisely. He pouts, slightly. Even if the story is not over.

“We kinda managed to come. Both. To go with you to the hospital. Nico stayed behind but you've been sleeping for two days already. The doctors said it was normal, that you needed to recover, but Daniel refused to leave your bedside. And the guys came and went here.”

His secret to their total mercy. Max closes his eyes and exhales strongly. The weight is still in his throat but he can't believe it. He can't believe it. It's always a shock when something that has been hidden for so long, almost four years, adds an unhealthy voice in his mind, is unveiled.

He fought so hard to keep it aside, to live with it day after day. Convinced it would go away. Now, after so long, for the first time, it was so bad that he ended up in the hospital.

The first time. The last ?

“M … Max ?”

Daniel begins to move slowly, to stir. In a gesture a little too spontaneous, he caresses his cheek, tenderly.

“Hi, Dan.”

It seems to him, at this moment, as the Australian raises his warm brown eyes towards him, still a little confused, confused, that it is the first time that they see each other in years.

Daniel finally lets go of his hand in shock before almost throwing himself on him to take him in his arms, making Lando step back, and it doesn’t take long before he leaves the room. As if to leave them some privacy.

Surely to give them some privacy.

“How could you hide this from us ? You're crazy, you almost died, you're dying …”

For a moment, Max thinks the other driver knows. Something in his eyes reminds him of it. But …

“Who is this, Max ?” this question makes him frown “Is it Charles or Carlos ?”

Daniel sounds almost desperate, for the wrong reasons, wanting at all costs to find a solution and he terribly disagrees even if it is hard for him to have a totally external point of view when the one that he loves is so close to him.

No more fine reasoning, fine speeches. It never works that way.

“Daniel …” he tries but it's still too weak.

“I'm sure we could find a way. And if that doesn't work, you have to do the surgery. You cannot die for these feelings, you must not die for them !”

Conviction, defeatist energy and the need at all costs to achieve this goal. Daniel doesn't want to lose him. First achievement.

“No.” Max is firm. “These feelings are worth it. I didn't want to die for them but I can't live without those. I don't want to, Dan. I just don't want to.”

“Don't be a fool !” Daniel explodes, mad at him, obviously. 

There is a certain irony in the scene but it doesn't make him laugh at all, quite the contrary. He just wants it to stop.

And yet a year ago, less than a year ago, he was so close to ending this whole situation. Why back down today ?

“Whether it's Carlos or Charles, they're not worth it !”

Max sniffs a little loudly, maybe a little contemptuously, rolling his eyes.

“It's funny.” he starts off rather slowly, his vocal abilities never fully recovered. “It's funny because not once have I confirmed it was one or the other.”

At that moment, Daniel freezes, these words seeming to really hit him, in distress.

“If … if it's not them then who …?”

A barely palpable silence. The tension in the air seems ready to release at any moment. He takes a single drop of breath which seems to occupy the entire space.

How couldn’t he realize ?

“...it's you.” Barely a whisper, breathless phrase that struggles to get past his lips because, oh, they're finally reaching the conclusion.

“Me ?”

The confusion over the Australian's features is not an indicator so far and, closing his eyes, Max can see the situation ending in two, maybe three ways.

Right or wrong and in wrong there were still two choices : to undergo the surgery or to let himself die. He no longer wanted to consider his feelings going away, not now given the situation they find themselves in.

“Max !” Nico enters the room in a fury.

Seeing the German makes him feel in inner conflict. Some relief, but a great feeling of guilt. He worried him, that's for sure. With all this stuff … 

“I told you to at least … at least to go see a doctor, Max ! You could have died …”

Nico freezes in his tracks, stopping several meters from them when he notices Daniel.

“Daniel … you should get out of this room.”

The Australian hardly seems surprised but does not move an inch. Max's heart beats at his temples.

“Daniel.” like a slow warning, an implied threat, the German ready to defend him.

“Max and I have some things to do. It doesn't concern you.” simply resumes the Mclaren driver.

They look daggers at each other.

Max, devastated, shakes his head sharply, bringing attention back to him and no one else. He doesn't want them to argue, to fight for him. He refuses it.

“It's going to be fine, Nico, don't worry.”

“Are you sure of yourself, Kleintje ?” Nico pouts, still worried, still divided between entering the room entirely or staying in the hallway.

What follows is probably going to be tough, but he also knows it has to be done. Regardless of the outcome. It just has to happen.

He delayed the moment for a very long time, but it is a logical conclusion. That arising from the fact that his feelings, that his illness was revealed. It’s too late to go back, it’s too late to take refuge behind someone. He must take responsibility for his choices, his path.

“Yes, I …” he swallows, searches for his words, afraid he won't find them “Yes, we will figure this out.” he finally said, briefly closing his eyes.

A serious look on his face, Nico stares at them both for a few more moments before sighing and leaving the room without any additional word, constrained and contrite.

And he can only feel happy to have him by his side.

Silence falls on them again, but that doesn't seem like an end in itself. They seem to be far from the end.

Daniel exhales strongly, before sitting down next to him, on the same chair, without touching him further, his head between his arms.

This posture makes him ask a lot of questions and there are always so many fears that seem to make everything more obscure. He even wonders if they are doing the right thing right now. He even wonders if he will survive it.

“I'm so angry with you, Max, but damn …” another deep breath, as if to calm down “I'm even more angry with myself.”

Max blinks.

He's not sure he heard correctly, thinks it might be a rambling of his sick mind. But the posture of his former teammate has not changed.

“With yourself ? But why ?" he ends up asking, just not understanding, or, maybe, refusing to admit it, to admit it to himself.

The Australian closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to think quickly, before looking up to look at him, gently.

“Can I ?”

He doesn't understand what the older man is talking about until he feels a hand resting on his chin. 

“Max ?”

He knows he has wide eyes and he can't even control his surprised expression. He doesn't even try. This feeling in his stomach is good enough, he feels himself melt away and only vaguely nods his head.

Daniel does not hurry and his hand slips behind his neck. An arm around his waist as he begins to kiss him deeply. Without violence, without trying to finish this kiss as quickly as possible, just to enjoy the moment.

It is the first time that he has felt so well since his illness began. 

There were moments of pause, short breaks during which he didn't feel that bad, but nothing, nothing,  _ nothing _ ever came close today.

“Dan, you … But why ?”

“It took a while. You were too young, I wasn't sure and then I acted like a jerk, I'm sorry.”

“I couldn't force you to do anything.”

“And during that time you were slowly dying. I spent time with Lando, I was convinced that … that you didn't need me. I'm so sorry."

“Stop apologizing.” he just whispers, shaking his head again, “It's not your fault and I can't force you to do anything. I just know … those feelings will stick around one way or another.”

“You don't understand, Max.”

This sentence surprises him a bit, but he doesn't have much to say about it. Daniel smiles at him, almost a little shyly, looking down for a few moments as if to find the right words.

“How … how is your throat doing ?”

“My throat ? I don't understand-”

Max stops on his own in the middle of his sentence because suddenly it hits him. It's obvious but it only jumps out at him now. 

This uneasiness so present in him, this uncomfortable feeling that he has not ceased to experience in recent times, years, which has slowly accumulated, worsening with each various event, has disappeared.

“What does it mean ?”

The Australian puts a hand on his.

“What do you think, Maxy?"

He suddenly feels himself turning red. He never believed it was possible, it was not possible and plunged into his deep torments he never ceased to deny what could have been. This kiss rekindled something. Or rather brought to light something he no longer saw.

That same thing he thought he'd been imagining all this time that just took its course and, oh, wouldn't that just be love ?

His throat tight, he takes a deep breath but feels feverish. Body trembling, tears beading in the eyes. His ordeal ends.

“You … you love me ?”

Daniel nods.

“But why ? How ?”

“I don’t know." The older man moves their hands slightly to tie them together “I don't know but one day a young dutch became my teammate and after a while I couldn't take my eyes off him.”

Tears roll down his cheeks and he doesn't even stop them. A stifled sob passes his lips, he slowly breaks.

“D-Dan… is it real ? Tell me it's not a dream. Am I probably dying? They didn't manage to get me back and I-”

His voice breaks on the last word but, already, Daniel is at his side, hugging him with strength and that contact, good god he missed that contact. He has never been more tactile than with Daniel.

He sticks his nose in his neck, breathing in his scent to anchor his senses in the embrace and he cannot prevent this observation which resonates in his ears : it’s real, it’s real, it’s  _ real _ .

“I'm sorry, so sorry Max.”

“Me too, Dan, I … me too …” 

His words seem to get lost in the intensity of the moment and there is still so much to say and so much to fix. Whole worlds broken in him and others forming, a repetition of a cycle that turns into something else.

Daniel kisses the top of his head gently, stroking his back, as if he, too, is afraid that the moment will be a stray dream and that he will disappear from his arms.

“I love you, Max. I love you, I will never let you go again.”

It is said so simply. The obvious. The happy ending he never thought he would have, after spending so much time snorkeling in the storm.

Max can finally breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have much more to add, in fact. I just hope this second part pleases you as much as I liked writing it. A happy ending, that's sure ... even though they have been through a lot.
> 
> Thanks for reading, everyone, thanks for your comment, it means a lot.


End file.
